


house party

by oculata



Series: Carbon and Dried Mangoes [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bad Flirting, First Meetings, Getting to Know Each Other, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22525639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oculata/pseuds/oculata
Summary: Despite Ian's apprehension and protests, Lip drags him to Mickey's house party.(College AU)
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Carbon and Dried Mangoes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620751
Comments: 62
Kudos: 261





	1. the night before

**Author's Note:**

> this is the start of a 3(?) [ _edit: it's gonna be 4 parts_ ] part series of ian and mickey in college meeting each other and having a good time. weeee. feel free to send some ideas to my [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/clennam).
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/_clennam)

Ian’s mouth was pulled into a tight line. “Lip, I really don’t want to go.”

“Oh, come on, man,” Lip replied dismissively, only millimeters away from the vanity mirror as he rubbed his thumb over a mysterious grey splotch on his cheekbone. “It’ll be great. Look, Mickey throws really great parties, and I think you two’d get along really well if you talked.”

Ian scoffed in frustration. “You’ve been saying that name since last semester, and I still have no clue who the fuck this guy is.”

Lip waved an annoyed hand in Ian’s direction and went on trotting around his dorm room in search of a mostly clean shirt. “You’ve met Mickey, like, two times.”

Ian jolted like he’d been punched in the face. His brows knit together, and his eyes rolled up towards the ceiling, searching the various cracks scaling up from the corners as if they were bound to curl into some magical date that would place the memory into Ian’s head. He kept searching, trying to manifest any sense of time or even a centimeter of the face of this elusive person whom he had supposedly met not once, but _twice_ before.

Mickey. A name like Mickey could entail two very distinct realities. Either the guy was a scrawny wimp, someone who’d had the moniker bestowed upon him in childhood and was yet to shake the name because he never grew into his ears or something, or he was so terrifying, large, and imposing that there was an unspoken rule amongst his circle that they would not speak unless first spoken to. Ian thought the first route was almost endearingly pathetic, but the second terrified him more than he wanted to admit—too many late night mob documentaries left him with an ingrained fear of any guy named “Lucky” or “Big Tuna”, let alone Mickey. Mickey sounded like a guy who would have no qualms about sawing someone’s neck off if they breathed on him wrong. Even so, with such graphic but opposite images in his head, Ian was no closer to matching the name to a face.

“Is he from your frat?” Ian asked, dazed as all hell with his mouth pulled open by confusion.

A laugh beat out of Lip so hard that he almost lost his balance. “God, no.” He began putting on a shirt. “I think the only way Mickey would join a frat is if someone forced him into it. And, even then, I feel like Mickey would pull out the dude’s teeth one by one until he fucked off.”

“When did we meet?” Ian asked, still befuddled, eyes darting around the room looking for some sort of photo or divine projection or something of the like to materialize, but he soon remembered that the only photos Lip had in his dorm was the small stack of his girlfriend’s naked polaroids. He huffed and took Lip’s assessment of Mickey’s behavior to mean that Mickey was more of the mob boss figure than the scrawny nerd he had been silently praying for.

“Mickey in a frat,” Lip repeated quietly to himself under a laugh, not hearing Ian’s question. “Feel like you could make a reality show out of that.”

“Hey!” Ian bellowed, waving his hand wildly and snapping his fingers to catch Lip’s attention. “When did he and I meet?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Lip replied, plopping down beside Ian to force his feet into his tight shoes. “Maybe a month ago? Remember during that one day where the fire alarm went off during my calculus exam, and you saw everyone standing outside? Mickey’s in that class; he was next to me when you came over.”

Ian’s jaw twitched wordlessly as his completely blank mind raced to somehow stop the ever-expanding sea of confusion.

“I don’t remember him at all,” Ian said. “When was the second t—?”

“Well!” Lip exclaimed, clapping his hands together as a form of finality. “Guess you can meet him again tonight!”

Ian narrowed his gaze on his brother. “I still didn’t say I was going.”

“Jesus Christ,” Lip whispered, seemingly to God himself. “What the fuck else are you gonna do tonight then? And don’t say studying because there’s no way that’s happening tonight if it hasn’t happened for the last four days.”

Ian exhaled a defeated little whimper, and a sheepish smile etched itself onto his face.

Lip grinned in triumph and placed a firm hand on his brother’s back. “Go get changed, and meet me back here when you’re ready. We’ll go over there together.”

Ian shuffled off the bed and scurried out of the room to head back to his dorm, mentally picking apart through his closet for an outfit that would show he wasn’t scared of a mob boss but still showed his friendly side—just in case God was real and Mickey was simply a scraggly nerd with glasses that he had to push up his nose bridge every thirty seconds. He grumbled to himself when he remembered he had _just_ the shirt for the occasion, but it was trapped at the bottom of his dirty laundry heap.

“Maybe the fucker will hop off my dick wondering who Mickey is finally,” Lip muttered to himself when the door clicked shut behind Ian. He grabbed his phone from off the floor and started searching for Mickey’s text that had the party’s address.

* * *

Ian settled on a pair of black jeans and a tight, almost silky white shirt that contoured around his chest well. They were still a block away from the address, but they could already hear the muffled music booming through the otherwise still night. Ian was perplexed by how every other house on the block seemed to be asleep despite the cacophony pouring down the street, the music finding a way to sink into his head and make it feel all fuzzy like cotton. The brothers weren’t discussing anything of great importance, but even such an insignificant conversation somehow managed to route back to Ian’s befuddlement with the identity of Mickey more than once, and by the time they reached the house, every fiber of Lip’s being was regretting extending the invitation.

“Holy shit,” Ian gasped, dropping the last thread of conversation as he beheld the house and its immensity.

It was a colonial style home with two Roman columns, which were outfitted with purple streamers, gracing the sides of the front door. It was massive, the top of it almost seeming to converge into the night sky, and each window blasted out a different color of light though the topmost floor was completely dark. The front lawn was littered with people, a good chunk of them only in their undergarments because of the large inflatable pool situated on top of a destroyed flowerbed. Ian watched with awe as the partygoers mindlessly tossed their red cups all over the lawn and pathway up to the house, tripping over each other excitedly as they went.

“Is this Mickey’s house?” Ian asked, surveying the lawn again with a degree of concern as he knew that, when daylight would inevitably come and cast a spotlight on the sins of nighttime, the house would be a living nightmare to gawk at, much less clean up.

“Fuck no,” Lip answered, joining Ian in the surveillence of the lawn’s state. “He grew up near us. Think this is one of his rich buddy’s places.”

Lip began making his way up to the front door, and Ian scampered along on his tail. They finally entered after paying their cup fee, and any attention that Lip would have paid Ian had dissipated. The party was primarily Lip’s—and apparently Mickey’s, whoever the fuck the guy was—friends, so though Ian was being wholly ignored by his brother, he had no choice but to helplessly stand beside him as he roughhoused with his frat brothers and talked so loud that Ian could actually hear him over the deafening music. He kept desperately scanning the party in search of anyone he knew enough to possibly tag along with. Alas, he was trapped with and at the mercy of Lip’s frat brothers, who bumped into Ian and shoved him around as if they were completely unaware of his presence in their circle.

Ian kept quietly sipping his beer, watching the sweaty bodies around him twirl under the gold, blue, and purple lights as Lip floated seamlessly between the various friend groups he dabbled in, apparently forgetting his brother was at the party at all. Occasionally, Lip would turn around, seeming to be looking right at Ian, and Ian would raise his hand to give his brother a wave that signaled he was okay, but then Lip’s countenance would adopt a scowl, and Ian would understand that whatever Lip was looking for, it wasn’t him. Eventually, Ian caught Lip’s girlfriend, Amanda, emerging from behind him, and that was the last time Lip turned around for the evening.

The music scraped against Ian’s brain like burlap, and with Lip’s form becoming smaller from distance as he fell further into the party, Ian resolved that he had been totally forgotten about by his increasingly inebriated brother. So, he decided to inch through the house until he found a somewhat quiet corner to tuck himself into until he felt like he had completed his party quota and could head home.

He studied the people before him as he continued sipping his beer, watching how all their faces seemed to blur together, each one indistinguishable from the next. That was what Ian didn’t understand about house parties and the people who came to them—by halfway through the night, everyone became faceless and mentalities were utterly muted or drowned out by alcohol. Memories in the morning were only fragments of what was assumed to be fun, and gaps were filled in by people whose recollections were even more scattered. Ian didn’t get it, but he supposed it was better than him sitting in his dorm room and watching television, promising to himself every twenty minutes that he would go study right after the episode was over until night slowly crept into morning and his brain refused to work at all.

There were so many people at the party that Ian was near positive that, if he slipped out right then, his departure would have gone entirely unnoticed, but some weird _code_ kept flashing in his brain and reminding him that he had to stay at the party for at least a couple hours even if he was miserable. Maybe he’d latch onto some too drunk group that was far too giggly and excited about life to resist his entry so he’d have at least a couple people to talk to—even if they didn’t remember him at all the next day.

Apparently his brooding and strategic scheming leaked onto his expression because a shorter man with black hair, full lips, and a dazzling smile sauntered over to his corner.

“Damn, you look like you really don’t wanna be here.”

“Not really my thing, I guess. Kinda got dragged here without my consent,” Ian laughed awkwardly. He straightened out his posture in an attempt to will some confidence into himself. “The music is fucking terrible, though.”

“Oh yeah?” the man contended playfully, arching a brow. “You gonna file a complaint or somethin’?”

Ian laughed, feeling his bunched up nerves peel away from one another. “I might. I don’t know where the person who’s hosting this is, but he should know that subjecting people to this is basically torture.”

The man smirked before descending into a breathy laugh. “Thinkin’ you’re gonna make ‘em cry? Write a strongly worded letter or some shit?”

“I feel like it’s only right if I do,” Ian returned, a few droplets of beer spilling out of his cup as he gestured around.

“Think you’ve got the wrong haircut for it, though.” The man reached out and twirled one of the curls around Ian’s hairline in his finger. “Little too much cute altar boy ‘n not enough ‘can I speak to a manager?’”

Ian felt his cheeks become stained crimson. He bashfully averted his gaze to his feet, tracing how the man’s collarbones projected out through his thin, emerald-colored shirt and how his thighs filled out his jeans nicely as his eyes worked their way down. The man still had that smug grin on his face, and it remained there as he ran his finger across Ian’s cheek and along his jawline before dropping it to his side.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ian mumbled shyly.

“You better,” the man said, smile still on his face. The man’s posture became looser, and he tilted his head in equal parts curiosity and growing recognition when he continued, “For some reason, I feel like we’ve met before.”

Ian’s eyes shot up to meet the man’s, and Ian was surprised how the icy irises that he was greeted by managed to only soften his features and complement everything else about him, and there was something about how his features came together into something cohesive that had Ian squinting in remembrance.

Ian felt like he was on the brink of a realization when Lip’s hollering and the clacking of Amanda’s platform shoes drew him out of his concentration.

“Hey! There you fucking are. And look at that,” Lip commented as he advanced on the two men, pointing between them. “You found each other.”

Ian furrowed his brows and looked between the man and his brother, mind going into overdrive trying to place the sentiment behind Lip’s words. “What?”

“Jesus Christ, man!” Lip exclaimed with a loud, dramatic sigh. “You seriously still don’t remember? That’s Mickey. Not sure if you remember, Mick, but this is my brother, Ian.”

Ian’s jaw dropped as his eyes darted between Lip and Mickey, the fuzzy memory of the aforementioned fire alarm debacle finally cementing in his brain. He remembered seeing Mickey, giving him the once-over, then doing a double take due to his being awestruck by Mickey’s pretty blue eyes and plush lips for a little longer than was socially acceptable, and then redirecting his attention to Lip and his concerns about the exam before he had a chance to make a fool of himself in front of a very handsome guy.

“Oh shit,” Ian said in one succinct breath, causing Mickey to bring his hand to his mouth in an attempt to make his snickering more discreet. Apparently men named Mickey also came in a third iteration that Ian had never expected—the one where they were entirely unassuming and gorgeous beyond belief.

“What?” Lip asked dumbly, looking between the men again as his alcohol soaked brain refused to make the connections necessary to understand the nuances of the interaction.

“Nothin’,” Mickey managed between laughs. “Ian and I’ve just been talkin’ for a bit. Pretty funny guy.”

Lip opened his mouth a touch, preparing to ask for clarification on the confusing situation, but something in him extinguished the curiosity as quickly as it had appeared, and instead Lip just nodded at Mickey’s statement.

“Aight, well, we’re gonna head back because I think there’s about to be beer pong. See you guys over there?” Lip asked, motioning between the men with his chin.

“Yeah maybe, man,” Mickey affirmed, waving off him and Amanda as they backed away. “Nice seein’ you.”

“Likewise,” Lip returned. The couple lingered in the room for a moment longer so Amanda could loudly greet one of her friends, and then they once again disappeared into the crowd of people.

Ian’s jaw was still unhinged, every expletive plastered on a billboard in his mind, cursing himself and everything about the situation as the embarrassment, hot and unforgiving, trickled onto his face and the back of his neck.

Mickey turned back to Ian with an unholy smirk. “So you wanna file that complaint now or later?”

“Holy fuck, Mickey, I am so sorry,” he apologized, the sentence coming out as one quick word. “I seriously didn’t remember what you looked like. Oh shit, I am so sorry.”

Mickey laughed, whipping back the strands of hair that fell onto his forehead. “It’s fine, man. This ain’t my favorite genre either, but everyone else seems to like it so it’s what gets played. Don’t worry about it. Jesus Christ, you look like you just watched someone kick a puppy.”

“I’m really embarrassed,” Ian mumbled, hiding his face behind his cup.

Mickey chuckled again and took a step closer to a still reddening Ian. He placed a hand on Ian’s wrist and gently moved it so the cup was no longer obscuring his face.

“You know,” Mickey began, his voice much lower and softer than it had been previously. “If the music’s not your thing, there’s a room a few floors up that’s real quiet.” He rose up on his toes a bit so his breath was ghosting over Ian’s lips, and his grip on Ian’s wrist tightened a little. “I’m headin’ up there right now. You can come with me.”

Ian nodded like it was the only thing he’d ever learned to do correctly.

Mickey grinned, sank back down onto his soles, and began dragging Ian by his wrist towards the silent and empty top floor of the house.


	2. midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided to extend this fic into 3 chapters instead of 2, so i hope you enjoy this unplanned installment!
> 
> heads up: there's some somewhat adult content in this chapter, but i don't think it's anything so wild that it necessitates a rating change, but if you disagree, please let me know in the comments and i'll amend that!

Throughout the night, Ian had acclimated to and even thought himself to be proportionate to the house’s vast walls and high ceilings, but as Mickey pulled him through the seemingly endless corridors, the house suddenly felt far bigger than Ian could have imagined. Whether it was a result of Mickey's unwavering grip on his wrist or the mounting nervousness within him as the reality of the situation became clearer he was not entirely sure, but the house had regained its original immensity, and Ian was feeling more than a little overwhelmed, his chest seeming to expand far out with an uneasy air. 

Ian’s inexperience with these types of scenarios was quickly catching up with him, as well, and it didn’t help that the other partygoers seemed to pave a path for them to advance up to the room. Ian watched the people acknowledge them before huddling up against the walls or trickling into already overfilling rooms with the occasional group pausing to give Mickey a quick greeting and thanking him for the event. The dichotomy of the situation was apparent, with Ian silently freaking out that he was en route to do something he rarely ever did with a _very_ attractive guy, and Mickey effortlessly floating through the crowd, waving at those who called for his attention and occasionally turning around to look at Ian with a small, reassuring smile. Ian wasn’t sure how Mickey managed to have his mind simultaneously in so many different places with such ease, but that easy confidence was psyching him out even more.

Everything seemed so vast and endless that it felt like Ian was on the brink of tripping into the most chaotic abyss, and once they reached the staircase, Ian couldn’t find it in himself to look anywhere but his shoes, concentrating on how his feet seemed to separate from his body. He could feel the cold sweat accumulating on the back of his neck, feeling the chill more and more with each curse he bestowed upon himself regarding his inexperience with hookups. He wasn’t certain why he was so nervous this time, either—in the odd hookup or two that he’d had in the past, he remembered feeling little prickles of anxiety, but with Mickey, he was very overwhelmed and very out of his depth. He was so focused on the ever expanding feeling in his chest and the shifting and vibrating floorboards underneath his feet that he hardly processed how the sound and members of the party incrementally fell away from them as they ascended three staircases in pursuit of the topmost floor. Ian only felt himself return to reality when Mickey slowed to a halt to open the bedroom door.

Ian felt like he had opened his eyes up after having a very vivid dream, and he took in his surroundings. The room looked lived in but still oddly bare. There were three large casement windows outfitting the opposite wall, a half made bed perpendicular to the wall on his right, and an armoire with a painting hanging above it pressed up against the wall on his left. The only part of the room that felt like it actually belonged to someone was one of the nightstands, which was outfitted with crumpled up receipts, a vitamin bottle, packs of cigarettes, and two stacked textbooks that threatened to fall off the edge. Other than a stray puddle of pants on the floor, the room’s atmosphere was closer to that of a hotel rather than a cozy, personal bedroom.

“Do you live here?” Ian asked suddenly when the door clicked closed behind him, the sound of his own voice startling him.

“Uh, sometimes,” Mickey began, walking around so he and Ian were facing each other. He gently tugged at the neckline of Ian’s shirt, eyes darting between Ian’s face and Ian’s clavicle. “I kinda go between a few friends’ places. Sleepin’ here tonight ‘cause of the party.”

Ian’s fingers burned to reach out and play with Mickey’s belt loops or swipe themselves down his thigh, but some force kept his hands paralyzed at his sides. Mickey took a step closer, their chests only a couple of inches apart, and then Ian’s tongue suddenly couldn’t keep still in his mouth—unfortunately, this burst of energy did not manifest in the way he wished it would.

“Oh, that’s funny,” Ian said quickly, nervously. “I live on campus, but my dorm’s been really far away from my classes for the last two semesters. My friends tried to get me to move with them off campus, and I’m starting to think me turning them down was the wrong move because their apartment is closer to the science buildings than my dorm is.” Ian kept laughing breathlessly, anxiety plucking up the corners of his mouth.

Mickey’s slow movements around the neckline stalled, and he looked into Ian’s eyes with a narrow, almost calculating gaze.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ian nodded fervently. “This is cool, though—I mean, it’s really cool that you have friends who let you crash at their houses for free. I know I wish I could swing something like that because it’s really cheap, but I don’t really have rich friends who— _fuck_ , I mean—”

Mickey laughed, his plush lips framing his straight teeth perfectly, and his eyes crinkling sweetly. “Don’t worry, man. I know what you’re sayin'.”

Ian exhaled a relieved but shuddered breath, and Mickey took the opportunity to try again, hooking a finger around the shirt’s neckline and dragging the back of his finger in a curve around Ian’s chest.

“What’s your major?” Ian’s voice punched out suddenly.

“Civil engineering,” Mickey answered dreamily, losing himself in the feeling of Ian’s skin.

“Oh, that’s cool!” Ian returned, his voice sounding way too high and squeaky for his own liking. He tried to roll his lips closed, but they found a way to open back up and keep his mindless, anxiety-driven spiel running. “No wonder you were in Lip’s calculus class. Do you guys ever study together? Lip always helps me out with my physics class; he’s pretty good at explaining things.”

Mickey looked up at him with easy, gentle eyes. “What’re you takin’ physics for?”

“Pre-med!” Ian peeped. “Didn’t think that’s where I was gonna end up, but here I am, I guess.” His body—fingers, toes, the muscles in his legs—felt so twitchy and unsettled. “I’m really shit at math, though, so I’m kinda drowning, and that’s why Lip’s been helping me out so much. He’s been really great about it so far, but I think I’m sorta driving him crazy, and I’m pretty sure that’s why he’s been avoiding my texts even if it’s something innocuous—wow, I’m telling you way too much about my life.”

Mickey laughed again, tucking his face into his shoulder as his chuckle petered out. He wet his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle his smile before turning back to face Ian.

“Maybe a little,” Mickey said gently. His voice was delicate and entirely without malice. “You always this talkative, Gallagher?”

Ian sucked in a long, chest-filling breath, as if he were preparing for the admission of a lifetime. But, when he actually spoke, bashful eyes locked on Mickey’s Adam’s apple, his tone was soft, bordering on sheepish.

“I don’t do this very often.”

Mickey’s lips parted at the shy confession. He unhooked his finger from Ian’s neckline and dropped his hand to his side, but he kept gently brushing his fingers against Ian’s in an attempt to keep the space between them sweet and comfortable.

“Hey,” Mickey called out softly, trying to catch the other man's attention. Ian’s eyes shot up to meet his. “Do you wanna do this? ‘Cause we don’t have to.” He paused for a beat as he tried to concoct an alternative plan. “We can go up on the roof and just hang out; there’s a nice view up there.”

Ian nodded his head slowly as he took in the suggestion. “Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”

“Alright,” Mickey confirmed with a smile and a quick nod back. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the nightstand and patted his jean pocket to check for his lighter. “Come on, doctor,” he teased.

Ian chuckled, sensing his composure finally return to him. He and Mickey walked side by side to the opposite end of the hallway before rounding a corner and having a thin white ladder come into view.

They beheld the ladder, and Ian tried to contain his laughter at how dinky it looked in comparison to the grandness of the rest of the house, especially in contrast to the striking staircases with decorative, hand-carved railings they’d traversed only a short while ago.

“I know what you’re—”

“Nope, nope, shh,” Ian interrupted. “This,” he continued, pointing at the ladder, “is fucking hilarious. All that buildup and grandeur, and this is how you get to the fucking roof.”

Mickey kissed his teeth and giggled. “Shut the fuck up and get your bony ass up there.”

Ian snickered in response and climbed up. At the top, he found himself in a small, outhouse-like structure with a door, which he assumed could only grant access to the roof. He pushed it open, and a rush of air hit him in the face as the boundless rows of houses, which seemed to lead all the way down into the dim horizon, entered his view. They were so high up that he couldn’t see the streets themselves, but he could see the bright halos of streetlamps cutting through the night and hear the echoes of laughter from the lawn traveling up to him.

“Nice, right?” Mickey asked once he came up beside Ian. “It’s nicer in the day ‘cause you can see those big hills in the way back behind everythin’. When Ritchie first showed me this place, I’d come here ‘bout everyday and just get baked and watch the sunset and shit.”

Ian considered the information. “Ritchie has rich parents who own this rich house?”

He could hear Mickey’s breathy laugh, and he turned to face the other man with a challenging arch of his brow.

Mickey lifted his hands in defense. “Hey, don’t come for me—I didn’t pick that shit.”

“Gonna put it in my complaint.”

“Think ‘s beyond my power, but maybe we’ll consider lookin’ into the matter.” He reached into his pocket for the cigarettes and lighter. “You wanna share a smoke?”

Ian nodded, and Mickey sank down to the asphalt, motioning for the man to come down with him.

“There used to be chairs up here, but they got blown off when we had those really strong winds a couple months back, ‘n we all keep getting too fucked up to remember that we need new ones,” he explained as Ian sat down next to him. He lit the cigarette. “Every fuckin’ week, man. We’ll come up here with some tequila or somethin’, and we’ll be like, ‘shit, we need to get those chairs. We’ll go right after this’, and then suddenly it’s fuckin’ Monday morning, and we’re all hungover as shit in lecture trying to remember what we were meanin’ to do all weekend.”

Ian laughed and plucked the cigarette from Mickey’s fingers, his lungs burning from both the smoke and his attempt at controlling his laugh.

“But you still pay attention in lecture, right?” Ian inquired as he passed the cigarette back.

Mickey’s mouth quirked up into a surprised but pleased smirk. “Soundin’ like a mom. Awful lotta concern for a guy you’re just gettin’ to know.”

Ian shrugged with a smile, benevolent eyes watching how the joy and giddiness floated across Mickey’s countenance. Mickey looked down shyly at his lap and sucked on the cigarette.

“Yeah, man,” Mickey confirmed with a strained voice. He blew out the smoke. “I mean, it’d be one thing if I didn’t like the topic, but I’m really into it. So I’m goin’ to lecture even if I wake up still drunk from the night before, ya know.”

“Never heard about anyone being so dedicated to building public property,” Ian teased.

Mickey chuckled and knocked their shoulders together. “Nah, man. The math and shit is cool, but it ain’t just that.”

“Oh?” Ian lifted his brows in prompting.

Mickey rolled the filter in between his fingers before gingerly passing the cigarette to Ian. “You grew up livin’ with your brother, right?”

Ian nodded.

“So you know the place is a shithole.” Mickey laughed to fill what he perceived to be tension. “When I was ‘bout seven, my equally shithole dad took me ‘n my brothers on a run to New York. He usually just left us kids to fuck around in the house for a week or somethin’ while he was gone… I don’t even remember why he took us that time in the first place. Anyway, I’d been feelin’ sick with a fever the whole time we were there, and I was so fuckin’ miserable, but I didn’t even wanna go home—I just wanted to sit on the fuckin’ beach til I felt better, but we had shit to do or whatever. It’s, like, the day before we’re supposed to leave, ‘n we’re out in Brooklyn, and I saw the fucking Brooklyn Bridge, and I just lost my shit.”

Ian gave a little laugh of disbelief, passed the cigarette back, and nodded for Mickey to continue talking.

“Seriously, man. I just lost it. I was this little fuckin’ kid, so sick, and seein’ this massive fuckin’ bridge for the first time in my life, and there’s the rest of this incredible, massive ass city right behind it. It looked so much like home but also not, and I fuckin’ _begged_ my dad to take us into the city for the day, but he was bein’ a prick like always and told me to fuck off. Anyway, figured out a lot later that bridge and highway construction is actually pretty cool, and so is figurin’ out how to work that shit into the natural environment.” He whipped his fingers around in a spiral shape. “Kinda like art.”

“Holy shit, that’s so cool,” Ian commented with an air of bewilderment. “Wow—one day in New York just set you up.”

Mickey grinned widely and swiped his hand over his cheek, trying to brush away his blush. “Guess so. What about you?”

“Kinda the same as you, but not nearly as impactful.” He took the cigarette back from Mickey, feeling a small flutter in his chest when their fingers grazed against each other. Ian gave a small, nervous giggle at the contact and cleared his throat. “Uh, just sorta wanted to work with people in a meaningful way and also move the fuck away from home. I thought about joining the army for a bit and applied to West Point, but it didn’t work out.”

Talking about what Ian considered failures was hard. When he received his rejection letter from West Point, no one even knew the status of his application until the night of the college enrollment deadline. Though he privately chastised himself about the matter, Ian acted like the letter had never come, simply stating that perhaps it was still en route when someone asked him.

After a while, people stopped outwardly wondering, and Ian was almost convinced that he’d be able to live the rest of his life in some weird state of collegiate limbo until Lip reminded him that he had to send a deposit to _some_ school. It had to come out, and so he confided in Lip in what he considered to be his greatest shame, and though Lip tried to remain neutral and supportive in his expression, Ian was convinced that he saw the light dim in his brother’s eyes. Lip hadn’t brought it up since, but Ian still watched for any remnants of disappointment that possibly popped through. It usually wasn’t something he ever wanted to talk about, and despite the audible mayhem coming from below, something in the air between him and Mickey was mild and accepting, and the disclosure had escaped Ian’s mouth before his mind could suppress it.

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” Mickey said with assurance. Ian’s fingers deliberately moved to brush with Mickey’s when he noticed Mickey’s hand coming after the cigarette. “Bet you you’re where you’re supposed to be. Plus now you’re gonna be a doctor.” Mickey lifted his eyebrows rather suggestively as he took a drag. “Feel like that’s pretty cool.”

Ian’s skin felt cool, almost caressed by Mickey’s words and tone. He slumped a little to the side so their shoulders were pressed together.

“Maybe you’re right.”

He could feel how Mickey’s body moved as he nodded. Ian took the cigarette back and inhaled.

“Plus that fuckin’ water around that base looks like it’ll give you cholera,” Mickey pointed out. Ian chuckled around the filter.

It was quiet for a moment as the two men regarded the dark horizon and burgundy roofs of the other houses, the occasional vibration of the music from far below managing to hum under them. Even with the overwhelming nature of the evening and Ian’s repeated vulnerability, it all still felt comfortable. Being on that roof with Mickey, watching the scattered white droplets twinkle in the sky as they slowly acclimated to the repose they somehow brought to each other, it made Ian feel calmer and more sure of himself than he’d felt in years. For Ian, silence typically meant that something in the universe was on the brink of pandemonium, but with Mickey, it just felt comfortable—it even felt safe. There was not an ounce of dread or trepidation niggling at Ian’s system. He was simply content—and, apparently, brave.

He sharply repositioned himself, sitting up and turning to look intently at Mickey’s side profile. Mickey slowly swiveled his head around to face Ian, and before his lips could form the first syllable of his question, Ian’s mouth was softly pressing against his. He could hear how Mickey’s breath halted with their connection, how his body stiffened from surprise but then quickly melted into pleasure as he hummed a low moan against Ian’s lips.

“Wait,” Mickey mumbled against Ian’s mouth, a hand pushing against Ian’s chest to break them apart. “Ian, are you s—?”

Ian nodded frantically and slotted their mouths together again, the kiss a bit more frenetic than it had been previously, and Mickey took the opportunity to blindly stub out the cigarette. Mickey dragged his hand down Ian’s chest, palm bouncing over the taut muscles there before settling on Ian’s hip. At the same time, Ian wrapped his hand around the side of Mickey’s neck, short but sharp fingernails digging into the flesh of the nape.

Mickey exhaled a sharp breath through his nose at the rough touch, and Ian took the opportunity to gently push Mickey down onto the ground and climb on top of him. Mickey balled his hand up in the shirt fabric covering Ian’s hip, and Ian moved off the other man’s mouth to plant wet, desperate kisses along his chin and jawline before trailing down to his neck and clavicle. He reached his free hand down between their tightly bound bodies to palm at the growing bulge in Mickey’s jeans before swiping down further to skim his inner thighs.

Mickey could feel his mind becoming misty from pleasure, and he slipped his hand under Ian’s shirt to reacquaint himself with the silky feeling of Ian’s skin. It felt incredible to actually run his hand along Ian’s lower back and side instead of teasing himself with just the stripe of skin immediately under Ian’s neckline—it was far more luxurious than he could have expected. Ian’s teeth nipped at the crook of his neck before his tongue traced down further into the dip between his collarbones. That was when Mickey registered that Ian had unzipped his jeans and that his hand was wedging itself into the tight space between the denim and his boxers.

“W—wait,” Mickey uttered suddenly, causing Ian to lift off his neck and look at him wide-eyed, worried that he’d done something wrong. “I don’t—” He tried to find his voice, wishing his mind were just a little less nebulous. “I don’t have anything up here; it’s all back in the room.”

“Oh shit,” Ian responded, quickly scampering to his feet and pulling up Mickey by his wrist. “Let’s go then.”

Ian began walking back towards the door, pulling the other man by his wrist. Mickey’s gait was more than slightly wobbly and uneven compared to Ian’s swift and determined one. Mickey’s eyes were half lidded, like he’d just awoken from the most pleasant dream, and his brain was still somewhat hazy from the feeling of Ian’s hands wrapping around his throat and pressing against his groin, but he could feel the tugs of a satisfied, admiring smile as he studied how purposeful Ian seemed as he led them back towards the bedroom.


	3. the morning after

Slowly, Ian emerged from his unconsciousness, grounding himself bodily in reality by way of the warmth soaking his eyelids and the arm resting along his back. The sunlight pouring in was bright and pale, indicative of the day’s youth and the tenderness of the room’s atmosphere. Ian’s eyes fluttered open to see how the harshness of the walls from the night before had been replaced with a soft, gentle glow. It all felt familiar in a way, reminding him of being at home as a child when, the feeling of waking up comfortably during a morning where the sun hung perfectly in the sky—which was weird, he realized in a hazy half asleep state, squinting at the window until the shapes on the other side of it turned bleary, because he was in a completely foreign environment with someone whom he barely knew.

No matter though, he decided as he shrugged off his reservations, wiggling the comforter from off his shoulder before flopping down onto his back. His activity caused the man sleeping beside him to stir a bit, and Ian watched as Mickey tucked the arm that had been resting along Ian’s back closer to his chest before nuzzling his face into the pillow and stilling once again. The corner of Ian’s mouth plucked up a little as he briefly scanned Mickey’s restful face, freckled shoulders, and bare chest. He wasn’t sure how Mickey managed to stay so handsome even whilst asleep. He then began contorting his neck around the pillow and stretching his arms up towards the ceiling, feeling and hearing his bones pull away from one another. He kept stretching, so focused on the pop and crackle of his joints that he completely missed Mickey tiredly snarling at the noise and movement. Still oblivious, Ian leaned over the bed in search of his pants to retrieve his phone to check his missed notifications.

 _Lip (11:58 pm):_ Yo  
_Lip (11:58 pm):_ Where are you? You still with Mickey?  
_Lip (11:59 pm):_ I’m so fucked up dude, me and Amanda are gonna head back soon  
_Lip (12:03 am):_ I hope Mickey isn’t like  
_Lip (12:03 am):_ An axe murderer  
_Lip (12:05 am):_ I don’t think he is  
_Lip (12:09 am):_ But it’d still be very reassuring if you responded  
_Lip (12:14 am):_ Hellooooooooooooo  
_Lip (12:20 am):_ Lucia said she saw you guys go up together so I’m gonna assume everything is fine  
_Lip (12:20 am):_ Dead body found in the party house would be bad publicity  
_Lip (12:21 am):_ Text me in the morning so I know you’re still in one piece haha  
_Lip (12:25 am):_ That’s not funny at all, I shouldn’t say shit like that

Ian chuckled and started typing his response, his somewhat sweaty thumbs making a flat but sticky sound as they peeled off the screen with each stroke.

 _Ian (7:17 am):_ Definitely not an axe murderer

Hoping that the text would assuage his worrying brother whenever he awoke, Ian began checking through his social media accounts, not paying much attention to how he readjusted his elbows on the mattress every couple dozen seconds or how he kept repositioning his legs under the sheets. He kept scrolling, flipping between various apps for a few minutes, absently cracking his knuckles as he read through statuses and other posts.

“You move so fuckin’ much,” a voice grumbled from beside him.

Ian, startled, almost dropped his phone onto his chest. He turned his head to look at Mickey and was greeted by a grumpy, squinting eye threatening to launch a dagger of annoyance into his face. Ian felt the heat of embarrassment curl around his ears and trickle onto the back of his neck and up onto his cheekbones. An awkward giggle escaped his lips, and he swore he could see the manifestation of his embarrassment creeping in red splotches on his chest. Right as Ian was about to stammer out an apology, Mickey nudged Ian’s arm with an elbow, and Ian turned to see a mild, almost amused smile on Mickey’s face.

“Like a restless fuckin’ zoo animal,” Mickey teased as he turned over a bit to stretch out his arms. “Time for your keepers to feed you or somethin’? What you awake so early for?”

The heat in Ian’s skin started to level out, and he even found himself smiling a little as he watched Mickey’s body adjust to consciousness. “I’m not really sure; I have morning classes, but I’m usually able to sleep in on the weekends.”

“Mm,” Mickey returned as a form of acknowledgement, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes before swiping them down his face. “Well, since we’re up: you wanna go get somethin’ to eat?”

Mickey swore he saw Ian’s ears perk up when he squeaked out, as coolly as he could, “Sure!”

Mickey couldn’t hold in his chuckle as he started rising from the bed, pausing briefly to rub at his face some more and take in his surroundings. Ian crawled up behind him, pectorals pressed against Mickey’s shoulder blades as the two men scanned the floor in search of their respective clothing.

“Do you remember which boxers I was wearing?” Ian asked into Mickey’s ear. Mickey shivered as the hot breath sent goosebumps across his neck.

“Uh,” he began, voice cracking the tiniest bit on the drawn out syllable. He cleared his throat in an attempt to will some composure into himself. “Think it was the green ones.” He stood up off the bed to pick the two pairs of boxers up. “You sure, man? You can just borrow one of mine. I’m pretty sure I’ve got a couple clean pairs here.”

“Oh— _oh_ , no, I don’t think I’ll fit in them.”

Mickey raised a questioning brow at him. “Fuck you mean you don’t think you’ll fit? The shit comes in small, medium, and large, and I don’t think we’re built too different.”

Mickey watched as the pink tinge returned to Ian’s ears and cheeks.

“I, uh, just think they’ll be weirdly loose on me ‘cause you’ve got like…” Ian shyly tucked his bottom lip into his mouth and stuck his hand out to draw a rather exaggerated curve in the air. “You know.”

As the meaning behind Ian’s words and actions dawned on him, a bashful but flattered grin crossed his face. He reached a hand up to cup his nose and tossed the boxers to Ian, eyeing sidelong how sweetly Ian was smiling at him.

“Thanks,” Mickey mumbled before sliding over to the armoire to retrieve a fresh pair of boxers, wondering if he was imagining the feeling of Ian’s eyes on him.

“So, uh.” Ian cleared his throat and began dressing himself. “What’s open this early that isn’t on campus?”

Mickey pursed his lips in thought. “McDonalds?”

“I’m down.”

After slipping on enough clothes so that they’d be decent in the case that they met someone trotting on the floor, they walked a couple doors down into a sizable bathroom, and Mickey took a moment to search through the cupboard for a new toothbrush for Ian.

“What should I do with this after?” Ian asked as he struggled with the packaging.

“Uh,” Mickey began, losing his train of thought as he dumbly watched Ian struggle with how to part the plastic and cardboard with a small grin. “Guess you can just toss it ‘less you’re plannin’ on bumming it here, too. Clearly Ritchie’s parents ain’t bleedin’ cash or anything,” he continued, waving his hand between the sleek marble floor and glossy sink basin.

Ian smiled and shrugged after a quick sweep of their surroundings—he could see clear through the glass that encased the shower, and he couldn't remember the last time he didn’t have to look through smudges. By the time Ian finally managed to free the toothbrush from its packaging prison, Mickey had already gotten his toothbrush out of its travel case and prepped it with a dollop of toothpaste. In a self-conscious filled hurry to catch up with Mickey, he began scouring the sink in search of the toothpaste, feeling his movements sharpen with each second.

“Hey,” Mickey said softly and tapped Ian’s wrist. When Ian stalled, Mickey uncapped the toothpaste tube in his hand and applied it to Ian’s toothbrush.

Mickey’s eyes were fixed on how he was dispensing the product, but Ian could see how his cheeks kept rising higher and higher on his face from his smile and how a soft blush colored his skin.

“Sorry—should’ve said somethin’ sooner, but it was kinda cute to watch,” Mickey explained, bright smile evident even in his tone.

“My complaint’s gonna be three pages long at this rate."

Mickey’s eyes shot wide open. “Damn, three pages?! I was hopin’ last night knocked a couple points off, shit.”

Ian smirked. “Okay, maybe more like two pages.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows in satisfaction. They brushed their teeth side by side, the fingers of one wishing to gravitate onto the body or hand of the other, but instead they stayed kept to themselves, settling on sending shy glances at each other and trying to look as attractive as possible with toothpaste foam dribbling from their mouths. They quickly got dressed afterwards with Mickey lending Ian a jacket because he insisted that that part of the town was way colder in the morning than campus usually was.

They traversed the first two staircases down towards the main house, chatting about their class schedules and singing praises about or damning to hell each relevant professor. As they were closed in on one of the party floors, Mickey gave Ian a tug on his jacket to stop him.

“What?”

“We gotta be kinda quiet ‘cause I’m pretty sure there’s a fuck ton of people sleepin’ down there, and the security guys that kick everybody out ain’t gettin’ here ‘til twelve,” Mickey whispered.

“Oh, shit—okay,” Ian nodded. 

Mickey grabbed his wrist and pulled him down the rest of the stairs and into the large corridor. The house looked so much more regal in daylight, but it also looked absolutely fucking trashed. There were cups littering the floor and pools of beer and jungle juice sinking into the floorboards. There were also odd sprinkles of confetti, balled up napkins, and stray shoes, and Ian was silently praying for whoever had to clean up the mess. The first room they entered, they saw a half dozen bodies laid out on the floor like sardines in a tin, low snores emanating from the gaggle.

Ian’s eyebrows seemed to glue themselves to his hairline in awe as they traveled through the house, each room and hallway somehow managing to be worse than the last, occasionally even necessitating that they step over bodies blocking their path. By the time they managed to finally get onto the front lawn, Ian had gained a newfound appreciation for the crispness and cleanliness of fresh air. Hell, he was thinking that breathing in smog would be better than the aroma of stale beer with faint notes of piss.

Mickey finally, but rather hesitantly, dropped Ian’s wrist and began leading them in the direction of the McDonalds. Mickey replaced the empty feeling of Ian’s wrist in his hand by rolling a cigarette between his fingers.

“So, believe it or not,” Ian said, “I had a pretty great time last night even though we passed out right after. I don’t think I’m gonna be needing to file my complaint or anything like that.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey returned as he blew out some smoke. “Good to hear. Management would’ve had my ass.”

Ian smiled and let the silence linger for a moment before he spoke again. 

“Lip said you grew up near us?”

“Yeah, not too far. My dad was, uh.” He paused, making a face as if just the _idea_ of the words tasted bad on his tongue. “Terry Milkovich.”

Ian’s feet leadened to the concrete, and his jaw dropped. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah,” Mickey sighed, sucking on the cigarette.

“Oh shit,” Ian repeated softly. “Wait, does your dad know you’re—?”

“Yeah,” Mickey confirmed. “Really long story short, he didn’t know, and I knew I’d have to move to come to school out here, but I didn’t know what I’d do when breaks came around ‘cause I didn’t have anywhere else to go. But, one night, he was just goin’ fuckin’ insane on me and all my siblings. Screaming all this dumbass homophobic and racist shit, throwing plates and glasses, punching holes in the walls.”

Ian gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I heard about that.”

Mickey’s breath got caught in his throat. “Then he started choking my sister, and me and all my brothers just fuckin’ jumped on the piece of shit and actually called the police because that’s how bad it was. Dumb fuck is outside getting arrested over the hood of this cop car still yellin’ out all this dumb shit, and I just decided, fuck it, I don’t even wanna come back here—I’ll figure somethin’ out when it comes to breaks. So I just spit in his face and told him I’m gay and like takin’ it up in the ass.” Mickey chuckled around the filter. “Pretty cathartic.”

Ian’s jaw experienced a magnetic pull towards the ground. “Holy shit.”

Mickey just nodded and flicked some ash off the cigarette’s end.

“That’s really fucking awesome, Mickey. I can’t believe you did that to Terry fucking Milkovich of all people.”

“Worked out pretty well, too,” Mickey said, beckoning Ian so they could continue walking. “Met a bunch of really cool people that live around here or in these really nice houses a few states over, and they all just let me stay with ‘em. Fuck Terry.”

“Fuck Terry,” Ian agreed.

Mickey eyed Ian intently, letting out an easy plume of smoke. “Don’t think we would’ve hung out if I didn’t do that, so I’m thinkin’ it was for the best.”

Ian nodded with a smile, getting momentarily distracted by how Mickey’s lips cradled the filter. “I think so, too.”

“McDonalds ‘s on this block,” Mickey pointed out, gesturing the puny cigarette in the direction of the restaurant.

They entered the restaurant and placed their orders, taking a seat at a booth as they waited for their food. Quickly, they lost themselves in chatter about their childhoods, realizing that they went to elementary and middle schools that were only a block apart and that they went to the same high school. They were bewildered about how they’d only just met even though they’d heard about each other countless times in passing. When they actually got their food, the conversations that took place between each bite stretched on for minutes. Eventually they were just eating cold food, but they hardly cared—they were having the most wonderful time getting lost in each other’s stories, sharing two different perspectives on the same big events, shit talking the crappy people they both knew, and generally reminiscing on the greatest bits of their pasts.

It was nearing eleven o’clock when Ian could no longer ignore the constant buzzing coming from his phone. He opened it, much to his annoyance, and his eyes grew wide when he realized it was the group chat for his physics class wondering where the hell he was considering their planned study session had started at ten.

“Shit, I have to go,” Ian mumbled around a bite of cold hashbrown. “I forgot that I have this study group thing today, and it started an hour ago.”

The smile on Mickey’s face dropped for only a second before he willed it back on. “Guess you better get there then.”

“Yeah, I wish I could stay longer,” Ian confessed. Looking down at the sleeve of the jacket, he continued, “Wait, let me give you this jacket back—I don’t think it’s as chilly now.”

“How ‘bout you give me your number,” Mickey blurted, halting Ian’s movements, “and I’ll come by ‘n get it from you.”

Before Ian could even begin nodding, Mickey was pulling out his phone and sliding it across the table. Ian quickly punched in his number and handed it back to Mickey, watching how the man’s face lit up when he saw the new contact.

“See you Mickey,” Ian said as he slid out of the booth. “Thanks for a really great night and morning.”

“Bye, Ian,” he returned, waving at the man as he backed away from the table. Ian barely made it ten paces out of the restaurant before his phone was buzzing from the alert of a new text message.

 _Unknown Number (10:57 am):_ hey it’s mickey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that wraps up part 1! the first chapter of part 2 should be up within a week. hope you enjoyed this first installment. send any ideas to my [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/clennam), and follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/_clennam) if you'd like.


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